


Sing for Me

by TonySawicki



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Clothed Sex, Floor Sex, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Voice Lesson, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 20:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16919895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonySawicki/pseuds/TonySawicki
Summary: Kyo's finally agreed to help Die with improving his vocal technique—but can Die keep his crush on his bandmate under control long enough to make it through the lesson?





	Sing for Me

**Author's Note:**

> I promised you guys a smutty one-shot! And I didn't forget, I've just been weirdly preoccupied, and anyway, here it is!  
> This is just something I've been thinking about for ages, and it's also kind of an experiment with present tense, since it's not what I usually do. Just tryin' to mix stuff up and try something new. It's probably kinda cheesy, shh.  
> I hope you enjoy! I haven't been writing a lot of smut lately, so aah!  
> (next chapter of faking dating should be up next week, too xoxo)

“I’m telling you, there are better people to help you with this stuff.” Kyo looks uneasy as he shuffles around Die’s home studio, idly runs his fingers over the keys of the upright piano.

“And I’m telling _you_ , fuck that, there’s no one I trust more to help me out vocally than you,” Die says firmly. He’s already had this argument with Kyo three separate times since he first asked him for some tips on his vocal performance. Seeing as Kyo is already physically in the space, he figures at this point his protestations are more out of habit than a serious desire to get out of helping. 

“I could give you the information for the therapist I worked with when I was in recovery…”

“Kyo.”

“Or I bet Gara would be happy to work with you…”

“And I’m sure he’d be great,” Die says, coming to stand directly in front of Kyo. “But I’m not interested in his style, and I would much rather work with _you_.” He relaxes his posture so he isn’t towering over the smaller man as much. “That said, I don’t want you to feel obligated. Of course if you really don’t want to help, you don’t have to.”

Kyo shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It’s not a problem, I just… don’t want to make you technique _worse_.”

“You won’t,” Die assures him.

“I’m not sure what you’re so worried about anyway,” Kyo says then with a frown. He sits on the piano bench, still facing Die. “You sound fine.”

“Sometimes.” Die crosses his arms protectively over his chest. Somehow Kyo agreeing to help, suddenly giving him his undivided attention, makes him feel more exposed than he had really anticipated. “But onstage, I often feel like… my pitch is off. I mean, I’m not tone-deaf, I can tell when I’m off, you know? But it still happens.”

Kyo nods solemnly. Then he offers up a half-smile. “A little pitchiness is nothing to beat yourself up over. I have my own moments.”

“Few and far-between,” Die says doubtfully. “Besides, your repertoire is about eighty times as demanding as mine.”

Kyo chuckles at that. “All, right, so, like you said, you’re not tone-deaf…” He turns so he’s straddling the piano bench, and licks his lips thoughtfully.

Die hugs himself a little tighter. He’s uncomfortably aware of how attractive Kyo is—as if he hasn’t noticed it a thousand times before. He finds himself wondering if Kyo can possibly realize how good he looks like that, his thighs spread across the width of the piano bench. Immediately, Die squeezes his eyes shut, scolding himself for thinking such a thing. Now is not the time to revisit his decade-long crush on his bandmate.

A chord played on the piano has Die’s eyes opening again, mostly in surprise.

Kyo smiles sheepishly at him. “Let’s try some pitch matching?”

“Since when do you play piano?”

Kyo shakes his head. “Just plunking. I’m really useless. Now if you would let me recommend an _actual_ vocal coach…”

“Oh, shut up,” Die says, rolling his eyes. “Pitch matching, okay. Get on with it.”

Die can’t help but watch Kyo’s face as he plays his series of random pitches, listening as Die sings them back to him. Kyo’s expression is stoic, his eyes focused on some point that seems to exist outside of this plane. Only when Die sings a phrase back a touch sharp does Kyo’s face change at all, a minute narrowing of his eyes as he plays the correct pitches again. Die sings it perfectly the second time.

“Yeah, your pitch isn’t a problem,” Kyo says, letting his hand fall away from the keyboard. He seems to be speaking mostly to himself as he goes on,“Which I figured, I mean obviously you have good musical sense, that wasn’t really in question…”

“But in the moment I can’t maintain it.”

Kyo glances up at him, looks almost surprised to see him standing there. “So it’s probably an issue with your support.”

“I’m supporting!”

Kyo looks him over reproachfully and swings his leg over the bench, standing up. “Why are you standing like that?” Gently, he takes hold of Die’s arm, shaking it until he drops them both to his sides. “You can’t support well with that much tension in your body.”

Die wills himself to loosen up, but honestly feels sure he’ll only be more tense with Kyo touching him. He breathes out through his mouth, and Kyo nods encouragingly at him.

“Sing something for me, something that’s troubling you.”

Die thinks, then crosses to grab a folder from on top of the piano, and flips through it until he gets to one of the songs with which he’s been struggling. He takes a second to find the starting pitch and plays it on the piano before moving back to the center of the room. Kyo stands patiently waiting all the while.

After a couple of false starts, Die makes it through the first phrase of the song, only to lose confidence there and stop again. He pushes his hair back from his face, and tries again, stopping in the same place.

Kyo stays just watching him, that intense focus boring right into him.

“It’s just hard without accompaniment,” Die says. His eyes flit to a guitar in the corner and he starts to walk towards it. “If I’m playing it’s better—”

Before Die can even take two steps, Kyo is there, standing between him and his guitar like an immovable object, his face serious.

“Voice only,” Kyo says, almost disappointed. “A cappella. No hiding behind your guitar for safety. It’s only going to distract you when you’re trying to work on support.”

Die frowns but can’t really argue with his logic. Closing his eyes, he attempts the phrase again, only to cut off, his eyes snapping open, when he feels a hand pressing firmly against his abdomen. “Hey!” He covers his belly with both arms, taking a step away from Kyo. “Hands off!”

Kyo looks up at him with somewhat wide eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“You can't just go around… touching… stuff!” Die says uncomfortably. He takes another step back, more self-conscious than he really knows how to deal with.

Kyo’s expression softens, something distinctly sad but not pitying in it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have asked first. I don’t need to touch you if you don’t want me to, but…” he drags his teeth over his lower lip, thinking again. Then he holds out his hand, palm up.

Die glances down at it, back up to Kyo’s face, shakes his head uncertainly.

“I won’t touch your stomach again,” Kyo says. “But let me show you?”

Die hesitantly gives Kyo his hand, only to have it guided under Kyo’s bulky sweater, under his shirt, to rest flat against his perfectly sculpted abs. Whatever part of Die’s brain usually remembers how to breathe seems to be experiencing technical difficulties, but he can feel Kyo’s diaphragm expand as he takes in a breath and confidently sings the entirety of the section Die had been struggling to get through, without a single note of doubt.

It takes a few seconds after he finishes for Die to realize Kyo is looking at him expectantly.

“Well? Could you feel how I was using my air?”

Die swallows. He can feel every one of Kyo’s breaths, feel the tiniest movement of his muscles as he shifts his weight. He wants to trace the lines of Kyo’s abs with his fingers, or better yet with his _tongue_ , but distantly he’s aware that Kyo asked him something, and most likely is hoping for an answer.

“Die?”

Kyo is still loosely holding Die’s wrist, holding him pressed against him. Die’s brain is a flickering fluorescent bulb. He’s stuck there, searching for some form of verbal communication that he’s sure he knew only a few minutes earlier. At length, he forces out a, “Yes, I felt it. I just don’t know if I can recreate it.”

Kyo nods and releases his hold on Die’s wrist.

Die can’t help but mourn the loss.

“Just try,” Kyo suggests, taking a small step back, and Die suddenly recalls the existence of oxygen, and its many benefits. Kyo is watching him again as Die sucks in air desperately, pushes it back out with considerable effort.

“Your breathing is kind of all over the place,” Kyo says, and it’s an admonishment, but it’s confused too. “Do you practice breathing from time to time?”

Die lets out a shaky laugh. “It’s not usually something I need to practice.”

“We spend our lives learning how to breathe _wrong_ ,” Kyo says. “As infants, instinctively, we breathe as we’re supposed to, but growing up, with societal pressures, this backwards, inefficient breathing becomes the norm for most of us. Along with poor posture.” He gives Die a look.

Die straightens up. It’s pretty much all stuff he’s heard before, ever since he started singing more seriously. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s painfully insecure, and almost can’t stand the thought of letting his body relax enough to breathe the way he knows he should. “So help me,” he says with a small shrug.

Kyo smiles dubiously at him. “What do you think I’m tryin’ to do?”

Die sighs and reaches for Kyo’s hand. Kyo doesn’t resist. “You can put your hands on me,” Die says, and hopes to god that it comes out sounding more casual than it does in his mind.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Die shakes his head. “I trust you. I know you’re just trying to help me; do whatever you need to do.”

Slowly, Kyo nods, and he moves to stand at Die’s side. He places one hand reassuringly at Die’s lower back, the other resting lightly on his abdomen as it had before. “Sing it again.”

It might be the most physical contact Die has ever had with Kyo. He’s hugged him before, leaned on him—the thrilling old fanservice moments flash briefly in his memory—but this is different. It’s prolonged and it’s gentle and it’s so _intimate_. There’s no audience, and Kyo is touching him by _choice_ , and he can feel how warm his hands are, even through the material of his t-shirt.

He hardly gets a breath in before Kyo cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Breathe _properly_ ,” he says sternly, and Die tries to ignore the way Kyo’s voice seems to make all his blood rush southward.

So Die breathes in again, focuses on breathing from his diaphragm, and starts the song from the beginning. Just as he can tell his pitch is starting to fall at the end of a sustained note, the pressure of Kyo’s hand on his belly increases. He’s about to stop singing and receive his feedback, but Kyo just nods for him to start the next verse. This time he knows when to expect that extra push and preempts it by taking a breath sooner, letting that air carry him through.

Still Kyo doesn’t stop him, though he moves to stand in front of him instead. “Yes, that’s it. You just need to get your air under you,” Kyo says, but he gestures with one hand for Die to keep singing. He frowns slightly as Die comes to the chorus. “The high notes are not your enemy,” he says. “Feel yourself rooted into the earth. Push down into the ground instead of straining upward.”

The earth doesn’t even feel like where Die is standing, and he’s starting to get lightheaded from all the air he’s forcing out. The bridge of the song is coming up, and it’s got the highest notes in the piece. His brain is a muddle of color and light and he’s keenly aware of this _need_ , to please Kyo, to do _well_ for him—only belatedly does he realize the intensity with which Kyo is staring at him. He stares back.

“Don’t reach for those notes,” Kyo says, his voice lower than before. “You shouldn’t be holding on with your throat at all.”

Die’s eyes are still locked on Kyo’s, and it’s careful, and somehow though it’s not fully surprising, Die can’t stop his eyelids from fluttering when Kyo’s hand closes around his throat. 

There’s no pressure at all; the touch is feather-light, purely a reminder to keep relaxed, and Kyo never breaks eye contact for a second.

Even as he finishes out the song, Die wonders how much Kyo can read in his face. He supposes he should be grateful that Kyo’s eyes aren’t traveling down to see exactly how his touch is affecting him.

The final notes are still hanging in the air when Kyo slowly drops his hand, and Die barely stops himself from moaning as Kyo’s fingers trail down his chest for a second before he backs up and out of his space. “That was better.” Kyo turns to the piano and plays a few notes. Glancing over his shoulder he says, “Whole song your pitch only dropped a half-step. Not bad at all.”

Die nods, but he feels numb, and at the same time like he can’t stop shaking. His throat is dry and feels like it’s burning where Kyo touched him. “I’m going to get some water,” he manages hoarsely, and slips out of the room towards the kitchen. He tries to steady his breathing once he’s alone.

_That was much too close_ , he thinks. Normally he’s so good at keeping whatever extra he feels about Kyo under wraps, and he almost just gave away everything, all from asimple touch to his neck. His eyes close as he dares to remember the feeling, the gentle sureness of Kyo’s hand. Letting out a breath, he shakes his head to clear it, and pulls a water bottle out of the refrigerator. He grabs another one for Kyo, and stands in the kitchen another minute just trying to gather himself back together.

He frowns as he walks back down the hall to the studio. There’s no way Kyo could have not noticed the way Die reacted to him. He’s observant and honest; Die’s only hope of not hearing something about it is that Kyo might be too polite to bring it up.

Kyo is facing the piano again as Die comes into the room. He doesn’t turn as Die enters, just stays looking down at the keys with a furrowed brow, and Die comes around trying to get into his line of sight so he can offer him the bottle of water. Finally Kyo’s eyes flick up to his face and away again.

“I’m sorry.”

Die cocks his head. “What for?”

Kyo’s not looking at him. He wets his lips, pauses, makes a face. “You’re uncomfortable. I told you someone else would be better to help you with this shit—”

“Hey,” Die cuts him off. “I don’t want help from someone else.” He forces the water bottle into Kyo’s hands, gets him to look up at him again. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

Kyo looks like he wants to argue, but Die doesn’t give him the chance, as he moves back to the center of the room.

“Just breathing correctly is still counterintuitive for me,” Die says, his back to Kyo. He doesn’t add the bit about _especially now, when I’m distracted by how fucking attractive you are and I want to be so good for you_. He wonders if Kyo can tell it’s implied. Turning back to face the piano he says, “Do you have any tips on just working on something as basic as that?”

Kyo takes a minute to answer. Slowly he turns around on the piano bench, sitting with one leg up, one dangling, and says quietly, “I usually just practice before bed, or sometime when I’m lying flat on my back. It comes pretty naturally that way.”

“I think at this point for you it comes naturally anyway,” Die says, and takes another sip of water before putting it off to the side.

Kyo shrugs one shoulder, his eyes downcast and uncertain.

Die purses his lips. It’s clear that Kyo is uneasy because of how Die reacted to him earlier, but Die can’t imagine why he would blame himself as he seems to be doing. He must have misread Die’s arousal as something else, and Die almost wants to correct him. He wants Kyo to know the truth of how he feels about him, more than he ever has before.

He comes to a decision inside himself and sits down in the middle of the floor. Kyo looks at him in surprise.

“So, here okay?” Die asks, and lies back, relaxing against the carpet, his eyes still on Kyo.

Kyo nods. “Then just breathe… Feel the natural rise and fall of your body. Don’t focus on anything else.”

Die does as he’s told, resting one hand on his belly as he inhales and exhales. It is easier like this, and Die feels almost totally natural breathing this way, but he misses Kyo’s hands on him, and finds himself saying something rather surprising: “I can’t tell if it’s working. Can you come see if I’m doing it right?”

It is a lie. Possibly even a blatant lie, as surely Kyo can see from where he’s sitting the movements of Die’s abdomen as he breathes slowly in and out. It’s devious and manipulative and Die can only stare innocently at Kyo until he moves from his perch, and kneels beside him, placing his hand over Die’s on his belly.

“You’re doing it,” Kyo says. “You’re doing great.”

Die can’t stop staring at him. He nods, his lips slightly parted.

“You should… You should try singing something like this,” Kyo says, and is Die imagining it, or do his eyes seem darker than usual?

Die obeys. It feels good to obey Kyo, and so he sings the chorus again, watches Kyo’s eyes close as he listens and feels, and then he can’t stand it anymore, and he grabs Kyo by the hand, and yanks so that he almost falls right on top of him, just managing to catch himself with his hands on the floor on either side of Die’s shoulders.

“Die?” Kyo's eyes are open now, searching Die's face. His usually steady and practiced breathing is coming out shallow and unsure.

There are a few seconds where Die might be able to get away with saying it was an accident, but they pass before he can even consider whether that would be his best option. Instead he shakes his head and quietly confesses, “I want you too much. You, here, looking at me, your hands on me… I can’t ignore it.”

For some unfathomable reason, Kyo looks surprised. “You want me?”

“So much.”

Kyo leans in closer, breath ghosting over Die’s lips. “Like this?”

Die loses his patience and surges up to meet him, kissing him hard before Kyo can change his mind or back up. It’s clumsy and it’s not enough, but Die still whimpers softly when he breaks the kiss and lets himself fall back against the floor.

Still, Kyo is looking at him. “So tell me, what else do you want?”

Die just manages not to blurt out his first answer ( _From you? Everything._ ) and instead wiggles his hips slightly and says, “Touch me.”

There’s mischief in Kyo’s eyes, and for a moment Die thinks he’s going to be an ass and tease him, but then he’s shifting his weight, one hand resting on Die’s hip. “You’re sure?”

Die can’t think of much he’s been surer of than wanting Kyo’s touch, but there’s no point in saying that, so he just nods. 

Kyo leans down to kiss Die again, this time along his jaw, slowly, as if each kiss carries great weight, and Die fights to regulate his breathing the way Kyo’s taught him, to keep breathing even as Kyo’s hand wanders from his hip down his thigh. The kisses keep coming, starting to bleed together, moving back up towards Die’s ear now.

Instinctively, Die spreads his legs a bit wider as Kyo’s hand travels back up the inside of his thigh, still slow, still lightly touching. He realizes a bit distantly that his own hands are on Kyo,one fisted in the material of his sweater, one just holding onto his arm. He supposes it’s better that they stay there than roam freely. He wants to touch Kyo everywhere at once, and he knows if he felt he was truly allowed to, he wouldn’t know where to start.

After what seems like a torturously long journey, Kyo’s hand comes to rest over the bulge in Die’s pants, and Die can’t stop himself from inhaling sharply. He feels Kyo’s lips warm against his pulse point.

“Hard for me already?” The words are all hot breath and low vibrations, barely a drag of lips against Die’s skin.

Die swallows, does his best to nod once more, and lets his hips rock up towards Kyo’s hand.

Kyo takes the hint, and begins to unbutton Die’s pants, while his mouth keeps its attentions to Die’s neck. He nips gently along Die’s throat, then soothes the bite with his tongue, and Die lets out a moan, followed by a shuddering gasp as Kyo licks over the same spot again.

Die is rapidly losing his ability to think coherent thoughts when Kyo’s hand slips into his pants to wrap around him. Kyo’s tongue meanwhile has found the pressure point just below Die’s ear, and is teasing the area relentlessly. The feeling goes straight to Die’s cock and he can’t begin to think about stopping his hips from bucking.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Die hisses. “F—uck, oh fuck, _fffuck_.” Anything else seems to have vanished from his vocabulary; even the pleas for Kyo to utterly ruin him, to take him apart and do as he will with the pieces, don’t make it past Die’s lips, though they’re right on the cusp of escaping.

Kyo’s breath is gentle against his ear. “I like when you sing for me.”

Die bites back a whine and his hands tighten their grip on Kyo.

Much to Die’s distress, Kyo eases himself out of Die’s grasp, takes his hand out of Die’s boxers, and starts moving his languid, deliberate kisses down Die’s clothed chest. He carefully skips over Die’s stomach, going on to mouth at the skin just above the waistband of his pants. 

Die watches him and wonders if Kyo can read the awe in his face. Even though he expects it as the natural next action, he gasps when Kyo begins to work his pants down his thighs and finally frees his erection. Without Kyo to hold onto anymore, Die’s hands clench into fists and he fights to control himself, to keep from arching off the floor to better offer himself up to Kyo.

Kyo lowers himself comfortably between Die’s thighs and his tongue swipes up the length of Die’s cock, laps up the pre-cum beading at the head. His eyes meet Die’s steadily, and he says, “There’s one last demonstration I want to do, for our lesson. About remembering to relax your throat.”

There’s no time to respond before Kyo is swallowing Die’s cock, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks him hard. Die cries out, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the floor, desperate for something he can use to ground himself, but to no avail.

Kyo’s hands are under Die’s ass, gently encouraging him to thrust into his warm, wet mouth.

The rational part of Die’s brain tells him to control himself, warns him against hurting Kyo with his eagerness, but it’s overruled by desperation and by Kyo’s moan as he swallows around Die’s length, and he snaps, fucking up into Kyo’s mouth mindlessly. He can feel how deep he is, how he hits the back of Kyo’s throat and still, Kyo doesn’t choke; he just takes it like it’s what he’s meant to do, and Die lets out some helpless sound as he thinks how perfect Kyo is, perfect _for him._

One of his hands finds its way to fist in Kyo’s hair, and Kyo moans appreciatively, the vibrations reaching Die’s core. He’s shaking, he realizes, closer than he’d noticed, and then a finger brushes against his entrance, and Die shouts, more shocked than anything as he starts to cum right down Kyo’s throat.

Kyo, however, doesn’t seem shocked at all. He keeps watching Die even as he swallows down his release, and when at last he sits up and lets Die’s cock slip from his mouth, there’s a raw hunger in his eyes that makes Die shiver.

Die should offer to return the favor, he should do _something_ , but he can barely move, and he only stares, transfixed, as Kyo sits up on his knees, and takes his own dick out of his jeans, thick and dark, foreskin pulled back from the head. Die swallows, horribly aware of how dry his mouth is, and nods, hoping that Kyo will continue.

He does, eyes finally closing as his head tips back and he strokes himself in a firm but controlled manner. His brows are knit together in concentration, lower lip, already red and swollen, caught between his teeth, and Die doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so stunning.

Kyo is still fully clothed, except for his jeans being pushed halfway down his thighs, and Die does find some regret in that, that he can’t see every perfect line of Kyo’s musculature, can’t watch everything moving so fluidly under his tattooed skin as he works towards his orgasm. Instead he still has his goddamn _sweater_ on—but there’s something arousing about that as well.

Kyo’s mouth opens, a few sharp exhales leaving him at random intervals, and a thrill rushes through Die at the thought that he’s about to see Kyo _cum_. After years of watching him bare himself onstage, he’s finally getting to see him totally undone, getting to _share_ that with him, and everything goes tight inside him.

Pulling his own shirt up to his ribs, Die calls Kyo’s attention back to him. “On me,” he says.

Kyo raises a questioning eyebrow, but his hand moves faster over his cock. His other hand is playing with his balls, and Die takes note, files away just how Kyo likes it, for some future occasion that he can’t help but hope for. 

It’s not long before Kyo seizes up, and then groans, ribbons of cum shooting over Die’s still-exposed cock and up along his abdomen. 

Die moans quietly, his stomach muscles contracting as he’s covered in Kyo’s mess.

Kyo takes another few moments to collect himself, doing his fly back up before he crawls to lie down on the floor beside Die. His hand rests on Die’s belly, heedless of the stickiness, as if he’s feeling for the implementation of the breathing technique he advised Die on earlier.

Die does his best to please Kyo, to focus on nothing but the rise and fall of his stomach, the in and out of his air. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kyo smile, and then he’s moving closer, his face tucked against Die’s shoulder where he can’t see him.

He doesn’t need to anyway. He can feel it; the contentment radiates from Kyo just as he knows Kyo can feel it coming from him. It’s in their breathing, their closeness. For once, Die isn’t remotely concerned about someone touching him, and if support is what he was lacking with his singing, he's sure he could sing anything now, with Kyo there holding him.


End file.
